


Коробейники

by WDIShowWriter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Sexual tension is fun to write, This might be part of a larger thing, idk yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WDIShowWriter/pseuds/WDIShowWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Moscow, after Clint has made a different call, he and Natasha share a moment together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Коробейники

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psynapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psynapple/gifts).



Clint searches Natalia Alianovna’s face, her upturned eyes, her full pink mouth with its kiss that hides in the corner, the small mark on her cheek, a single imperfection. The red lighting in the room casts a soft glow over her face, making her fair skin glow from within. Natalia’s features, though, as beautiful as they may be, are blank, without a single spot of emotion. She runs one long finger around the plate in front of her, trailing along the gold trim.

“Natalia...”

“Natasha,” she cuts in, and looks up at him. “Natasha Romanoff.” She looks back down again, carefully straightening her fork and knife along the white linen napkin, and Clint wonders just how many ways she could kill him with only the things she has at the table right now. “I don’t want to hear you butcher ‘Natalia Alianova Romanova’ ever agin.” She looks back up at him, a smile twitching in the corner of her mocking mouth. “We might as well go all the way.”

It’s hard not to notice how lovely she looks, the way her breasts strain slightly in the gold dress, her hair swept off to one side, leaving her neck and collarbone completely bare. 

At that moment a waiter arrives bearing a large gold tray which Clint can see contains a gold samovar, a bowl of fruit, and a small dish. Inside is a thick dark red jam, the same color as Natalia’s--Natasha’s--curls. The waiter places the tray on the table, the metal clinking slightly against the plates.

Natasha thanks him quietly, and the waiter leaves. When he’s gone, she selects a few fruits, pouring the tea from the samovar into her elaborately gold-handled glass. Clint follows her lead, watching as those long, tapered fingers, the fingers that have strangled countless men, begin to spoon the red substance into her tea.

“Cherry Varenya,” she says without looking up. “To sweeten the tea.” Natasha finishes her work and looks up at Clint, passing the bowl over courteously. Her eyes sparkle in the dim light. “Try it.”

Clint reaches for the dish, his hand touching hers for half a second or so. It’s like an electric shock, shooting into his skin, along his arms, and throughout his entire body. They’re the hands of a killer, but her can feel her pulse slightly, her blood rushing through her veins. Natasha draws her hand away quickly, placing it in her lap but never taking her eyes off of Clint. 

He knows he should be worried, with her right hand out of sight, but he isn’t, instead choosing to focus on spooning the sticky substance into his own tea, watching the tick red jelly sink to the bottom of the glass. Natasha watches Clint intently, green eyes fixated.

“A toast,” Clint says, lifting his glass slightly. Natasha smirks but mirrors his action.

“To the world’s best killers,” he says, and Natasha’s beautiful mouth actually spreads into a small but genuine smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“No,” she corrects, tilting her head to the side. “To the world’s best survivors.” An auburn curl escapes its style and falls in front of her face. She taps her glass against his, and they both drink, eyes locked on each other.

Everything Natasha’s told him is correct. The tea itself is has a soft, smokey quality that brings to mind caravans traveling across a desert, cold winters and warm fires. The black cherries are sweet and thick, the syrup blending with the tea to create something thick, decadent, and surprising, the perfect complement to the tea. It warms him from his soul, rather than just his body.

From somewhere, an old tune plays, soft, gentle, slow. Clint doesn’t know the song, but Nat’s eyes have a suddenly hazy look to them. She stares off into the distance, her full lips softly mouthing the words as she stirs her tea absentmindedly.

Clint stands and walks over to her, extending his hand. “Wanna dance, Nat?” he says. She looks up at this, blinks a few times in surprise before masking the emotion. Her bright eyes scan his face, as if looking for the edges of a mask. After a moment, she grabs his hand cautiously, and he pulls her up, holding Natasha in his arms. Clint begins to dance softly. He isn’t good at all, but that’s ok, because Natasha is. She’s stiff at first, but as they move, she presses her body closer and closer to his.

“Znayet tol’ko noch’ glubokaya,” Natasha sings in his ear, her voice hazy.

He can feel her chest rise and fall against his.

“Kak poladili oni,”

The two firearms and four knives she has tucked into her dress press firmly against his skin.

“Raspryamis’ ty, roh’ vysokaya.” 

Her heart, for the first time in what Clint imagines to be years, is calm, slow, relaxed. After a moment, their hearts sync up, two beats moving to one rhythm, two people, individuals, independent beings, but so much more when together.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is the same as the Russian folk song Natasha sings, also known for being the Tetris theme. If you're interested in knowing more about the song, comment down below or send an ask to my Tumblr: eclecticdetective.tumblr.com
> 
> This started out as part of a larger piece that I just needed to get out of my system. I'm not sure if I'm going to write the larger thing or not. If you have any opinions on whether or not I should, let me know!
> 
> Many thinks to Psynapple, who really encouraged this.


End file.
